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“Is Monica okay?” she asked, urgency in her voice as she looked around.
“Yeah. I think so. I hope so. They think she has a concussion, but she’s been in there so long. I don’t know what’s going on…” I felt warm tears threaten to fall.
“Oh, Troy. She’ll be okay.” She gave me an assuring nod as she took my hands. “I hate to ask, but…Veronica…”
“She’s alive, but got pretty banged up.”
Erica nodded in relief. She stayed quiet for a moment longer before putting her hand on my shoulder. “I hate to bring it up, but the news is speculating…”
“About?” I raised an eyebrow.
“A romantic connection between you and Monica.”
“Of course they are,” I muttered. “Only the news would take something horrific and spin it into something else entirely.”
Now I assumed my father was calling not because of our fight, but because his helicopter was on the news in a high-speed chase and the rumors broke about me being romantically involved with my assistant. He was probably more worried about the latter.
I groaned as I sat back in my seat. “I don’t even care. I just want to see Monica.”
“You will,” said Erica.
We waited in silence for what felt like hours, until the doctor I saw go into her room came to find me. I stood up quickly when I spotted him, eager for answers. Eager for anything he could tell me about Monica.
“Miss Durall is asking for you,” he said.
I took a deep breath and followed him to the room, leaving Erica in the waiting room.
Chapter 55
Monica
Iclutched the white sheets up to my chin tightly, hoping it would cover the fact that my hands, my everything, were shaking. Everything in my life had just changed here in this hospital, and it had nothing to do with the car accident that could have taken my life.
“Are you all right?” asked the doctor, looking up at me from his clipboard.
I nodded, even though I was far from it. My insides were churning and rising to my throat. I looked around quickly for the bowl the nurse had brought in earlier. I spotted it on the counter by the sink after she had washed it out for the third time. I pointed at it frantically, my lips pressed tightly to hold it all in. The doctor’s gaze followed my finger and quickly grabbed the bowl, handing it to me.
I emptied out into the bowl until it felt like there was nothing left. I clutched the bowl tightly against me as I dry heaved. Every shudder of breath I sucked in was painful as my body began to realize what it had gone through that day. The doctor had said I was pretty banged up, but the bruises would become more apparent and the soreness more painful over the next few days. He said I was lucky I had my seatbelt on.
I thought back to the moment in the car when I was so sure my life was over, that I had taken it off to try to say goodbye to Troy. Things could have ended a lot differently moments later.
I groaned as another dry heave rolled through me and my back screamed in pain as it lurched forward. The doctor put his hand on my back.
“Nausea is normal with concussions. It’s also normal in the first trimester, or sometimes beyond that,” he said gently.
I clutched the bowl tightly and shut my eyes, shaking my head as if that would somehow erase what the doctor had told me minutes ago.
“You’re pregnant.”
Pregnant.
Three months to be exact. I was just entering into my second trimester, and had been somehow blissfully unaware that there was a baby growing inside me. Troy’s baby.
I pushed the sick bowl away from me and one of the nurses came and thankfully took it away. On the bed next to me lay a glossy black and white photo of my baby, our baby. My hand shook as it carefully picked it up, as if it might break. My eyes welled with tears as they landed on the tiny baby that lay cradled in my stomach. Salty tears landed on the white sheets around me.
“I’ll let you have a moment,” said the doctor, gesturing for the nurses to leave. “Please, let me know if you need anything. And congratulations again.”
All I could do was nod. I didn’t know if I wanted to be alone right now with my guilt eating away at me. I had been pregnant for three months and didn’t know. My instincts were already failing as a mother. I should have known that I had missed my period, not once, but three times. I should have known when things like chocolate cake started tasting different. I should have known when my breasts ached at times, or the fact that Troy had been spending a particularly long amount of time on them when we were intimate.